


A drop into silence

by FallenFurther



Series: Sensory Sunday [5]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Explosions, Gen, Hurt, Missions Gone Wrong, Pain, References to Thunderbirds, Rescue, Rescue Missions, Sound, Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt, drip, drop, hear, sensory sunday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25001980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenFurther/pseuds/FallenFurther
Summary: A rescue goes wrong for Scott.Sense prompt: Hear
Series: Sensory Sunday [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1771204
Comments: 9
Kudos: 22





	1. Pierced

_Drip_

The soft sound was soothingly, however as his brain slowly acknowledged the heavy feeling of his body all Scott could do was let out a moan. The cold metal grate was pressing into his face and his first instinct was to push away from it. He moved his arms to push himself up, his right elbow hitting metal and jarring him slightly. Scott's hand was soon where he wanted it and he pushed up, aiming to end up on his hands and knees. Instead, sharp searing pain shot from his shoulder, causing him to cry out. He didn't get anywhere with the lift. Scott breathed through the pain until it had settled enough for him to think straight.

_Drip_

As his breathing because less laboured and his heart was no longer pounding, the stillness enveloped him. There was a dull ringing in his ears and Scott slowly struggled to put the pieces together. There had been the roar of Thunderbird 2 flying overhead to join him. The calls of the people he'd come to save. Those screams had been replaced with words of gratitude as he ushered them out. Then he'd gone in again, the light buzzing of Mini-MAX flying after him with Brains' hologram floating above the little robot. Scott couldn't remember the instructions Brains had been relaying to him, but they had been important. Maybe he couldn't remember because he’d hit his head, or maybe he had just expected Brains to repeat them when they were at their destination. Not that it mattered now.

_Drip_

He'd gotten used to the chill of the metal. His cheek pressed into the holes of the grating. Virgil was going to kill him when he found out Scott had removed his helmet. The explosion had made it unusable anyway. He remembered the feeling off relief that he'd had upon seeing the damage; grateful he'd been wearing it. He needed to thank Brains that he wasn't dead already. Thank Brains, survive Virgil. Both added to his to do list. What else should he do? Contact John. Scott moved his right hand carefully and was thankful there was no pain. He reached around, sliding his hand under his neck to try and reach his baldric. He just needed to press the iR symbol. But he also needed to not be lying on it. Reaching along the tough fabric caused his body to rock and excruciating pain made tears come to his eyes. Scott tried to bite through it. He tried to reach but it was all too much. He felt himself slowly slipping. He continued to push forward.

_Drip_

The engine room had drowned out Brains instructions. The grinding of metal, the hiss of steam from old machinery that should have been decommissioned years ago. It should be in a museum. He had barely heard the pounding of his feet as he'd run to the console, following Mini-MAX who started to push buttons. Why was he even there if MAX could do it all? Scott had chased after the robot, who led him further into the engine room. He knew they had to stop the machine or risk the whole area being damaged by a catastrophic explosion. Scott knew first-hand how hard evacuating an area from an unseen threat could be. MAX flew around a handle and Brains, the genius he was, projected simple instructions for him. Scott had tried. He'd worked as fast as he could, the clunking and grinding getting worse. Only it hadn't been enough, and the word 'RUN' hovered above MAX. He didn't need telling twice.

_Drip_

Scott couldn't speak, his jaw clamped shut against the pain. Thankfully, he didn't have to. The sweet chime of his brother's voice, no matter the panicked undertone, was music to his ears.

"Scott!? Scott!? I've got your location. Stay put. Virgil is on his way."

The pain intensified as he brought his hand out from beneath him. Tears escaped and ran down his face. There was a dull splat as one hit the metal, though Scott barely registered it. The pain had taken over everything neuron in his brain. He stilled and waited once again for the pain to subside, to become manageable. At least his brother was coming. John knew where he was, and for once Scott would have to wait for rescue. Though he was sure when Virgil found him, he'd prefer a stubborn, walking, wounded brother. Scott knew it was bad, even without looking. The eerie emergency lighting did nothing to ease the feeling.

_Drip_

He had run too late. Scott had almost reached the door when the machine had overloaded. The explosion caused by the built-up pressure, shredded the rusty old metal, and sent it flying. One piece flew directly at him. It had thrown Scott into the wall, his helmet taking a significant amount of the blow. It was not salvageable. Scott had discarded it and continued to get away. As he ran along the corridor in search of an exit, the high-pitched ringing in his ear was a constant reminder of why he had to be quick. The build-up of pressure wasn't localised. In the dimly lit corridors, the blue light of Mini-MAX was Scott's guide. The buckling of a pipe as he ran spurred him on, his focus on the light and the pounding of his feet on the metal walkways. The maze felt never-ending and his legs and lungs were starting to burn. But he couldn't stop. Mini-MAX led him across a tank of water, which led to another. The door ahead was so close, but Scott never made it. Metal gave in above him with a mighty groan, as his body hit the gangway and great splashes below joined the symphony of destruction. He hadn't been fast enough.

_Drip_

Twisting his head, Scott placed his other cheek to the metal, his eyes took in the horror that was his right arm. There was enough light to make out the source of his pain. Jagged angled metal was pinning the top of his arm to the broken metal walkway. Other ragged edges had skewered his lower arm and forced it into an angle that shouldn't be possible for human bones. It was broken. An injury like that should hurt. It should hurt more than it currently was, Scott knew that much. Some would call it a blessing, but he knew enough about medicine to know it meant something worse. Damaged nerves. Blood, not red in this light but a colour much darker, coated the jagged metal spines. They glistened with his blood. It was slowly pooling at the ends, silently building up, until it fell to the water below.

_Drip_

His heart was heavy with the realisation. He would be lucky if they could save it, let alone for it to be functional. He was going to lose his arm. He would have to step down as an International Rescue operative. He might still be able to fly Thunderbird One, just not on a rescue. He'd have to sit and watch his brother's risk their lives unable to help them. He'd would have to watch from the side-lines. He'd have to hope they'd come home in one piece. Hope they won't pay the same price he had, or worse. A tear slid down his face.

_Drop_


	2. Broken

Virgil clambered along the path following the point on his pad. The little robot beeped behind him as it towed the hoverstretcher. He'd had to wait for John to confirm the risk of another explosion was minimal. Scott had managed to cut off major areas of the site, so the debris was limited to building vicinity. His brother had saved countless lives by putting his own in harm’s way. John hadn't sounded too concerned about Scott, though the lack of any verbal response was worrying. It made Virgil more determined to get to his brother fast. The twisted metal of the building wasn't helping though. Virgil carefully cut through it. He was above the tank Scott was in. Shining his high beam through the gap, he quickly spotted the blue of his brother’s uniform. Virgil's heart stilled. Scott rarely sat still, let alone lie down to wait. Various medical conditions started flying through his head as he tried to assess the situation. He sidestepped, trying to get a better view. The gangway was torn and bent but it still looked sturdy. There was a larger hole of twisted metal behind him and Virgil cut some of the sharp edges away, leaving behind a crude ladder-like shape. Carefully he climbed onto the gangway, pushing his foot against it first to test its strength. The metal groaned as it took his weight. With gentle steps Virgil headed closer to the form of his brother. A glance reassured Virgil only for that reassurance to be shattered when Scott's left arm came into view. 

"V-Virgil?"

Scott's voice was a gasp and Virgil could hear the pain he was fighting. The fact that the stubborn man was conscious with such an injury was impressive. The rest of Scott's body appeared unharmed. He'd come remarkably close to being crushed, and Virgil noted that it was still a risk, but the reason Scott couldn't move was his arm. Virgil crouched as best he could next to his brother. 

"I'm going to give you some pain relief."

A nod was all Virgil got in response. The laser cutter made light work of the material covering Scott's right arm, and his own nimble fingers had a cannula inserted safely into his brother's arm. Virgil had the strongest painkiller in his hand and carefully measured out the right dose for his brother. It helped that he had only done Scott's last physical examination last week. Gently pushing the drugs into Scott's system, it didn't take long for Scott to sag and release a sigh as it took effect. How much pain Scott had been tolerating, Virgil would never know. 

With the painkillers getting to work, Virgil moved closer to Scott's left arm. The sad look in Scott's eyes gave away how he felt. Virgil could give no comfort or reassurances, knowing for Scott it was worse to lie. The arm had been impaled at multiple points, some spikes protruding all the way through, others going in an unknown depth. At least one closed fracture which Virgil needed to stabilise. He was going to have to be inventive. 

"I'm going to cut you off the metal, then try get this as straight as possible. It might still hurt something awful."

"Just do what has to be done." 

The grim response came with an air of resignation. Scott understood there might be a need to tourniquet the arm which would almost definitely lead to amputation. Virgil slipped the small cutting laser from his baldric and started cutting the metal prongs. They cut with ease, though supporting the arm was difficult from his current position. Once freed from the metal, Virgil held the arm to Scott's side, hoping his suit could withstand any sharp edges. 

"I'm going to roll you in Three...Two...One."

With a swift sure movement and Scott was on his back. There was a small risk of spinal injury, so a spinal board was slipped under Scott and a brace secured around his neck. The lack of protest from the older man was unsettling. A cooperative Scott didn't bode well. Now on the board, Virgil slid Scott along the gangway to where it was more stable, and he could have easy access to Scott's arm. The sooner it was stabilised the better. There was no way a traditional splint was going to fit, but tight bindings would help stem the bleeding and help the arm stiff and reduce further damage. 

"Scott, I'm going to manipulate your arm. This will hurt."

The blank expression and numb look in Scott's eyes as he nodded sent a chill down Virgil's spine. Turning his head to the task in hand, he took a deep breath and wrapped his gloves fingers around the arm. Another steady breath and Virgil manipulated the limb until the bones were as close to their original alignment as he could make them. Scott gasped but that was his only response. The pain medication was working. Some of the wounds were bleeding more readily now, and Virgil worked quickly to wrap bandages around them, stemming the bleeding and securing the metal for the journey. Placed the arm by Scott's side and strategically placed the strap to stop the arm from moving in transit. Virgil beckoned to Mini-MAX as he stepped back, allowing the robot to move the hoverstretcher to beside Scott's spinal board. With MAX at the other end, Scott was quickly moved and secured to the stretcher. Mini-MAX quickly grabbed it and started pulling it from the tank back the way they had come. Virgil was quick to follow, clambering up his rudimentary staircase, not wanting to lose sight of his older brother. 

"Gordon, prepare Thunderbird Two for immediate launch. Radio the nearest trauma centre, Scott needs specialist attention."

"FAB."

The response was short and formal and to untrained ears would have sounded quite normal. But Virgil knew Gordon. He'd heard the short pause, heard the snap of his brothers back straightening as he slipped into his serious mode. Gordon's military training meant he was could put his emotions to one side and do what needed to be done under pressure. Soon the green Thunderbird was in view and Scott was secured in the pod in record time. As Virgil ran the medical scanner over Scott, knowing Grandma would be studying them on Tracy Island, he heard the familiar click of the pod reconnecting with the main body, followed by the rumble of igniting VTOL engines. Virgil took a seat and held Scott's undamaged hand. His brother strained his eyes to meet Virgil's gaze. 

"It's bad, Virgil."

Scott's voice was sure and fatalist in a way that Virgil didn't think was possible for his brother. Scott never gave up. The sinking feeling in his stomach made him squeeze the hand he held. Virgil couldn't promise his brother anything. He wasn't even certain they could save the arm. 

"We'll get through this, Scott."

Scott eyes returned to continue staring at the ceiling, leaving Virgil to sit in silence for the whole journey to the hospital, though his eyes constantly checked the bandages. The thud of Thunderbird Two landing was a welcome sound and set Virgil into a flurry of activity. Virgil was standing at the pod hatch, stretcher at his side, ready to rush his brother into the Accident and Emergency department the second the metal touched the ground. The sight of medical staff waiting was a relief. They ran beside him and Virgil handed over his brother to their care, listing off every injury he knew about, the drugs in his system and when they were given. Virgil was held to the side by a nurse and watched as Scott was transferred to a hospital bed. The hoverstretcher was returned to him. His brother's blood spotted one side. 

"Come this way, I'll show you to the room where you can wait in peace. We'll keep you updated, but your brother is in expert hands." 

Virgil let her lead him, dragging the stretcher. She opened the door and he thanked her. She left but Virgil didn't step inside. Instead he returned to Thunderbird Two and cleaned the stretcher as a worried Gordon and Alan appeared. When he was finished, he walked towards them and wrapped an arm around each. 

"Let's go sit inside and wait."

The pod closed behind him, Thunderbird Two safe where she was. Virgil led them to the room, and they sat their together, Alan leaning into Virgil. A nurse came in to inform them they were taking Scott to theatre to try to remove the spines and set the bones. They would try to save the arm, but there was a chance it could still die after surgery. That started their wait. John, Grandma and Kayo joined them promptly, bringing coffee. Grandma shoved them out the room after that to go get showered and changed in Thunderbird Two. Apparently, they couldn't stay in their sweaty, dirty uniforms. Returning via the canteen with cheese and ham sandwiches for all, the silent wait continued. Another hour passed before a doctor entered the room. 

"The surgery went well, but there is significant damage to the arm. It's highly likely he will lose the hand and forearm or have no feeling in it. He's lost a considerable amount of blood but is doing well. He's unconscious in recovery, though we have to restrict it to one visitor until he's got his own room."

Everyone glanced around the room. Only one of them could go to Scott. They all wanted to see him, all wanted to be reassured that he would pull through. Grandma stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

"You go, Virgil." 

No complaints came. 

"Thank you."

Virgil followed the doctor, scrubbing his hands when asked, into the recovery area. There were multiple people lying in beds attached to beeping monitors, but Virgil's eye found Scott easily. He went straight to the bed, noting the blood transfusion still underway, the pale tone of his skin and his closed eyes. 

"The anaesthetic still hasn't worn off yet."

Virgil nodded and sat in the chair next to his brother’s bed. There was a plastic cast strapped around his arm instead of plaster. They mustn’t want to cover us the various wounds just yet. There was only a fraction of the arm that wasn't covered in bandages. It was only the ends of Scott’s fingers that were uncovered. Virgil gently brushed his own fingers along them. They were warm and flushed, which meant there was blood flow, but what the doctor had said about nerve damage resonated inside Virgil. Was that why Scott was so resigned? Is that what he had suspected? Would those fingers ever move again? The what ifs fell over Virgil, weighing down his heart. Was Scott strong enough to survive this?


	3. Numb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This gets a little medical at the end and I have tried to keep it at the right level. My scientist side is showing through.

The next few days were spent lying in a hospital bed, a smile plastered on his face, keeping up appearances for his little brothers. He laughed at Gordon’s jokes, smiled as Alan relayed his latest adventure on Cavern Quest and tried to reflect the air of positivity that the doctors seemed to have. His fingers stayed pink and healthy, his wounds were healing nicely, and his bones had been repositioned correctly first time. He was considered lucky. Yet deep down, beneath it all, Scott felt despair. The support of his family kept him there, kept him present and he would have drowned without them. But part of him wanted to drown. With every passing day the neurologist looked less satisfied with his progress. A week after the rescue and he was discharged with physiotherapy booked for when the cast they sent him home in was removed. The joy on everyone’s face kept him going. They were like a storm, spinning around him with such force it carried him along. Yet that night, after he’d thrown his nightshirt across the room in frustration, he let the façade fall. Scott lay on bed shirtless, placed his head on his pillow and stared at the ceiling. Only then could he let the thoughts surface. The tears silently fell, dampening his pillow. When the sound of someone entering his room came, he couldn’t stop them, couldn’t pull on the façade he’d discarded. He was thankful when it was Virgil who pulled a chair up to his bed. 

“I can’t feel anything, Virgil.”

The soft brown eyes met his, a sadness in them that showed the truth. 

“The doctors say the feeling could still come back; your nerves just need time to heal.”

“Screw the doctors!” Scott growled, anger filling him as tears continued to fall. “What do you believe, Virgil? You’ve seen the scans; you know the medical facts. I know you’ve spoken with Grandma, gotten her opinion. Do you think I’ll regain enough feeling, enough movement?” 

Scott watched as Virgil broke eye contact. His brother was bent over in the chair, and guilt spread through him. He should take it out on Virgil. It wasn’t his fault. The tear that Virgil shed made Scott want to reach out. He did reach out, except he didn’t. His left arm didn’t move, didn’t follow the command Scott gave it. Instead, Virgil met his eyes and held his gaze. Those hazel eyes were strong and held, ready to speak the truth. 

“I believe you’ll regain some feeling, just not enough for you to use the arm. You would only be allowed to fly a specially adapted plane and your days as an International Rescue operative are over. Brains is already planning on a way to allow you to fly Thunderbird One but…”

“I won’t be able to do rescues. I’ll be a liability.”

Scott’s heart broke and he knew Virgil’s was shattering beside him. International Rescue would never be the same. It would go on, because it had to, but without him at the helm of Thunderbird One, it wouldn’t feel right. 

“I’m sorry, Scott.”

Scott pushed himself up awkwardly, still not used to the dead weight of his arm and twisted so he sat facing Virgil. His gaze fell on his fingers, again he tried to wiggle them, every thought projecting down the arm. Nothing. Virgil picked up the hand and shifted so it lay on his knee. Silently, he started massaging the muscles and flexing the fingers. These were some of Scott’s assigned exercises, all of which were easier done by someone else. Virgil went through every finger, bending it and flexing it, being careful of the cast that stopped at his knuckles. The tender care of his brother’s touch was lost to Scott. Closing his eyes, his body felt still. None of the movement could be felt. He had felt the tug when Virgil had pulled his arm, up in his shoulder, above where the main nerve had been severed. 

“Grandma is reaching out to all her friends, asking if there is any research that has evaded her that might help.” 

Scott fought the sob. Of course, she wouldn’t give up. She was a Tracy too, stubborn as they come. It brought a smile to his face, despite the tear that escaped. He felt his hand being placed on his leg and returned his gaze to Virgil. The artist’s hands fell on his bare shoulders, an act that gave Scott the strength he currently lacked. 

“We’ll get through this.” 

Scott gave Virgil a resigned nodded. He still struggled to believe it could get better. Virgil got up, leaving Scott’s shoulders to feel cold, only to return with the nightshirt he’d discarded. 

“How about we get this on?”

*****

Scott stood in front of the mirror in just his suit trousers. The skin on his left arm clearly displayed the scars, a fresh pink colour, that reminded him that even though he looked okay, he wasn’t complete. It’d been almost three months and there was no change in the arm. It just hung there, limp. The rest of Scott’s body was still toned due his continued use the island gym. Even though he couldn’t be a member of International Rescue, the need to maintain his fitness remained. Yet as Scott stared at his redundant arm, he could see the signs of wastage. The bicep had less definition and his forearm was looking slimmer. Signing, he turned and slipped the shirt from its hanger. He’d gotten the technique now, on how to slip his dead arm into the sleeve, though he knew it would create creases in the crisp ironed material. Pulling it up at the shoulder, he pulled it round and slipped his right arm in. Again, his fingers had mastered the one handed fasten, and soon the shirt was done up. The suit jacket followed in the same manner. Sitting he pulled on his socks and shoes. He had yet to buy any new dress shoes, not wanting another reminder of what he couldn’t do. Slipping on the shoes, laces left untied, he grabbed his tie and room key. Outside Grandma was waiting. She’d flown him over and insisted on staying to help him. He regretted that he needed help, but the tie slipped from his hand and was thrown over his head. Scott smiled at his Grandmother as she tightened the knot round his neck before bending down and tying his shoes tightly. These shoes hadn’t let him down yet, but his secretary was aware of his difficulties and she was good at discreetly helping him. 

“All ready. Go get them, Scott.”

Scott couldn’t help the small chuckle at his Grandma’s enthusiasm. He’d taken to doing more Tracy Industries work, so he didn’t just spend his time watching, worrying, and envying his brothers when they were out on rescues. They were all being careful, his arm a subtle reminder of why they must be cautious. Yet at the same time, when in the heat of the moment, they could forget it and they had started to push themselves again. They had just returned from a rescue before he had left last night, so goodness knows what could happen to them while he was away. 

“Thanks Grandma. Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself in New York?”

“Oh, don’t go worrying about me. I’ve plenty to keep me occupied. Anyway, we need to get you to your meeting, can’t be late now.”

“I’m the CEO, they can’t start without me!”

Grandma looped her arm in his good one and started guiding him towards the exit. She was one of the strongest women he knew and as he peered down at the top of her head, he absorbed some of that strength. It was his family that got him out of bed each morning, his family that got him through the pain that rose when he found himself staring up at Thunderbird One, or when he went to the supply cupboard and saw his spare uniform. His family kept this grounded pilot going. 

*****

The previous day had been tough, and all Scott had wanted was to be flown home so he could sleep in his own bed. However, Grandma had insisted that they stay another night and spend the day in New York. One gaze into his Grandmother’s hopeful blue eyes, her hands clasped together, and he relented. Maybe he needed some time away from the island. 

“So, where are you planning to take me today?”

Scott smiled down at the older woman, who had her arm in his and was pulling him towards the exit. There was an energy in her that reminded him of Alan. 

“Actually, I was hoping you’d agree to meet a friend of a friend I met yesterday. She’s currently doing some research you might be interested in.”

Scott’s heart stuttered in his chest. He knew what she was referring to and he tried to stay calm. There had been so many false leads, so much promising research that was still in the earliest of stages. They had even investigated bionics, though Scott wasn’t too keen as some of the early work was less than successful in the long run. He also had Brains working on an exosuit-like device that would be able to move his arm for him, but the prototypes were still bulky and hard to control. If Grandma thought it was worth his time then he would go, he just wouldn’t get his hopes up. The car out front took them to a skyscraper, and they were met in the lobby by a smartly dressed woman who embraced Grandma. 

“It’s good to see you again Sally, and you must be Mr Scott Tracy. My name is Charlene Russell, I’m a neuroscientist and it’s my research that might be of interest to you.”

Scott shook her outstretched hand, noting the glance to his useless one. They were then led up to an office where they were subjected to a presentation. Scott didn’t miss the eagerness radiating from his Grandma. 

“…so, as you can see, the rats regained full use of their legs after the treatment. When it comes to the same in humans, we have been given permission to start some trials in extremely specific patients, mainly in smaller less complex neurological deficiencies. We harvest the stem cells from the bone marrow, as well as the testis in men. Unlike earlier therapies we plan to harvest multipotent stem cells, so they still obtain the ability to become most cell lines. We have managed to find a combination of signalling proteins, hormones, and growth factors, which push human stem cells to become neuroectodermal cells, which is the first stage in the development of the nervous system in a foetus. We also have the right combination to produce neural stem cells. Our treatment involves injecting these cells into the area around the damaged nerves to allow the cells to trigger repair and in some cases, even bridge the broken strands allowing signals to pass along the nerves. It can take a few treatments to get the best results, but in our trials so far, patients have regained more function than expected from normal treatment alone.”

Scott sat straight, trying to take in all the science that was being thrown at him. The take home message seemed that they could repair damaged nerves in some patients. But would it work for him? He dared not hope for full movement but even some. If he could just feed himself and tie his shoes. To not have to rely on someone else for the simplest of things. It would ease the worry he saw in Virgil’s eyes. 

“Do you think it could help me?” 

“Well, Sally kindly shared with me your medical scans, and considering the nerve damage is limited to a few small areas, with the main break being at the top of your arm, this type of therapy has the potential to help. This therapy is very individualistic, and outcomes can vary, but if we could get even a few stem cells to bridge the gap at the top of your arm then that could restore some function, even if it’s just sensations of touch or pain.”

Even the feeling of touch would be an improvement. Currently he often bruised or cut the skin on his left arm because he couldn’t feel it. He had once left a trail of blood through the house when he’d cut his finger on something and hadn’t noticed. 

“You said only a few selected cases could undergo the treatment, would I fall into this category?”

“Currently you don’t, however we have just been granted permission to try the therapy on a person with a similar injury in their leg. I believe we could apply to allow you on a trial as we could use your data in conjunction with theirs to assess the therapies potential in humans. We would have to apply straight away as the sooner after injury the treatment is preformed the better the success and you are already close to three months post injury.”

“Do you think we could get permission?”

“Yes. I believe the fact that you are Scott Tracy will help with your case too.”

“Then let’s do it. I have nothing to lose.”

Charlene smiled at him and Scott couldn’t help but mirror it. 

“I’ll go fetch all the appropriate paperwork. I’ve had one of the medical teams on standby ready to do the required examinations and tests on your arm. These will have to be repeated at a late date for confirmation. Also, if you consent, they are also able to do the tissue harvest to start the process of extracting and culturing your multipotent stem cells. This would mean we could move quickly into starting treatment once permission is obtained.”

“So, I’m going to have a bone marrow harvest and you said something about testis in men, what does that involve?”

Charlene looked a little sheepish. 

“Yes, the doctors will take a small slither of testicular tissue. They have assured me that it won’t affect your ability to have children and involves making a small incision with minimal scaring. The doctors will explain all the risks later, though from what I’ve heard most men don’t complain, especially if the bone marrow harvest is done first or at the same time.”

Scott swallowed, but nodded. There were always risks with new procedures, but this might be his best shot. There was a chance, a glimmer of hope if bureaucracy didn’t get in his way. Then he was Scott Tracy, CEO of Tracy industries and still considered Commander of International Rescue to most of the world. When had a bit of paperwork ever stopped him from getting what he wanted?


	4. Tingling

Scott sat waiting for the local anaesthetic to kick in, not that he needed it. He couldn't feel anything anyway, but they had to follow procedure. The nervous tension twisted Scott's stomach making him glad he hadn't eaten that morning. It'd taken three and a half weeks to get the paperwork completed, submitted, and approved. He'd been allowed to be an exception on the trial. It'd all gone through yesterday and having consented to having his cells harvested in hopeful preparation, the stem cells required for the treatment were ready to go. The sooner the better they'd said, well this was the quickest turn around they'd had. Scott was certain his name helped. Now he was lying on the operating table, arm extended and secured in a special metal cage, waiting for the first treatment to start. The anaesthesiologist smiled at him, his eyes a soft gentle brown which reminded him of Virgil. 

"If you could turn your head so we can see if you can feel anything."

Scott did as he was told, confirming no, he couldn't feel it every time he was asked. 

"All good then, all set to proceed."

Scott turned again to watch the anaesthesiologist get up and stand to the side of the room and Dr LaGrouse take his place. Dr LaGrouse was the one who was trained to do the procedure, though other doctors were watching and being trained. 

"Okay Scott, as you know we've mapped your arm and identified places where there is damage. I'm going to use the computer to target those places precisely."

Scott nodded, already aware of the ins and outs. A tray containing a row of syringes containing his stem cells was wheeled beside his doctor. Scott took a deep breath and watched as each was inserted in turn. He wanted to see. There was no pain at any point. When all had been inserted, he was left with an arm covered in small dressings. He was the taken to a side room to recover. It was a formality, they had to let the anaesthetic wear off. A few hours later, his arm was dressed and placed in a sling and Virgil was flying him home. Grandma knew his aftercare instructions and he was aware of the immense physiotherapy involved. He could only hope it was worth it. 

*****

The tingling sensation that occurred as Virgil manipulated his arm was a good sign. It was a bazaar feeling but with the second treatment tomorrow, Scott was starting to feel positive for the first time in a while. Virgil's grasp on his skin was firm but light and was the most welcome feeling in the world to Scott. The first time he had felt something he had been alone. Once he'd confirmed it to himself, he'd cried. That sensation was now getting stronger and although the limb was still limp, Scott could feel where it was. He felt it hit the table and tap his side with every step he took. When Scott went for his morning run the wind set off his nerves, reminding him that the arm was there. Scott was learning the value of touch. 

"Okay Scott, I needed you to try and bend your elbow for me."

His brother held his arm at an almost right angle, Scott's forearm sitting lightly in Virgil's palm. Scott focused on the muscles he needed to move, thought as hard as he could, sending the thoughts down to the appendage. Nothing happened. Not even a twitch. Virgil’s hand moved to gently cup his wrist. 

"Can you move your wrist?"

Again, Scott concentrated. Forcing the thoughts down towards the joint. He released the breath he'd been holding with a sigh. Still no movement. 

"Now the fingers."

Scott tried to clench his hand, tried to make a fist. He wanted to close his hand. His eyes closed in effort only for him to let go, releasing the air from his lungs. 

"Scott, do that again, but keep your eyes open and on your hand, okay?"

Scott did as he was told, commanding the hand as he stared at it, fighting the urge to close his eyes in concentration. A wiggle. Just a twitch in his third and fourth finger. His heart jumped. Was he seeing things? Trying again, his fingers quivered. Just a little. 

"They...they moved."

Virgil's brown eyes met his. The grin on Virgil's face lit up his eyes, which Scott swore were looking a little watery. 

"They sure did."

Virgil was grinning ear to ear, and Scott's own eyes started to water. He knew it was small, but it meant so much more. Signals could reach his fingers. The treatment was working. Virgil pulled him into a hug, which Scott returned with his strong arm, heart jumping at the idea that he might just be able to reciprocate with both soon. 

*****

The research team was ecstatic with his progress. They had given him four treatments in the end. Another harvest would be required if he wanted more, however they didn’t believe it was required. Scott had full feeling back in his arm and basic movement. His grasp was firm enough to hold a glass of water and he was starting to improve his fine motor skills. He could just about feed himself with a spoon in his left hand. His treatment was considered successful and a miracle, but for Scott he wasn’t even halfway to where he wanted to be. Scott still looked to the sky every day, waiting for his chance to get back up there in the pilot’s chair. Scott wanted more, and his eyes were set on more physiotherapy. Virgil and Grandma were always keen to help. Scott had spent so much time with his Grandma, running through the same exercises, day in and day out, as well as having to let her help him do simple things. They’d become closer.

The company was now all over the media as the people who had given Scott Tracy the use of his arm. People were writing in hoping of receive treatment and funding flooded in, including some from Tracy Industries. The trial was to be expanded, allowing some of the many desperate people to have a chance to hope. Many of the new volunteers would be content with Scott’s results, their lives changed forever. Scott understood their desperation, desire and chasing of hope. 

After another round of testing, he left the facility smiling. They had confirmed that there were still changes happening, that his progress hadn’t started to slow and that they could see further improvements to his motor control. Not that a downward turn would stop Scott at this point, he’d keep doing until either there was no more hope, or he was back to full fitness. He’d already spoken with the aviation society, had seen how they allowed people with various disabilities to become pilots. He knew he would be able to fly again in some capacity, but his eyes and heart were still set on his Thunderbird. How he wanted to sit in that seat again and fly her as fast as she could go. Scott would keep pushing. 

*****

Scott’s body ached as he sat at his father’s desk. They had gotten back from the ranch that day, and as much as Scott hated to admit it, yesterday’s trial had been harder than expected. He had tried to keep his fitness up, tried to stay at the same level as his brothers, but obviously it hadn’t been enough. Though Scott could now train properly, his left arm having caught up somewhat to his right in strength. His left had always been weaker anyway, and the gap was probably still larger than it was originally, but Scott could cope with that. He, and his brothers, were all aware of it and could work around it. Though considering the starting point, considering where he had come from, to be back to International Rescue standard fitness was fantastic. 

The scars on his arms were now a reminder of the hard work he’d put in to get to where he was. They allowed him to help others too, showing them the potential that stem cell treatment held. He had met a few of those who’d been struggling, who had needed some hope. Like the teenager who’d had her spine broken doing sports, who was now learning to walk again. Hope was something International Rescue gave people in need, and Scott had welcomed another way to bring hope when he couldn’t be part of the team. 

Scott lent back in the chair and held his left hand up, clenching and unclenching a fist. He had proved himself strong enough, had passed the test and regained his pilot’s licence. The joy of flying himself to New York the next day had been amazing. Brain’s had then allowed him to fly Thunderbird One, letting Scott get used to the upgrades that had been added since he’d last sat in the seat. That had set Scott’s eyes on the home straight, and now he’d passed the final hurdle. He’d passed the International Rescue fitness requirements. His status had been updated. Looking beyond his hand his gaze fell on the light fittings on the wall. It had been eighteen months since the last time he’d stood between those lights. Eighteen months since he’d pulled them down to head out on that last fateful rescue. How they had all thought it would be his last. Scott smiled. He was ready. If a call came in, he would be the first to launch.


End file.
